Love Is
by Atoms and Elements
Summary: Love is many things, for it is a sort of temporary madness. Through glances and tears and kisses and fights, love is what love is. AU. All pairings.
1. Staring

_**A/N:**_** Alright, this story is just a freak litter of love-centric stories that have nothing to do with one another and are not centered to just one pairing. This current one is going to be a NaruSasu story, and it revolves around the theme of love gazes. This should make sense as you go, so...go...**

/...\

_Love Is...Staring_

**Third Person POV:**

It arrived in both short glances and long glances. Shy peeks and bold leers, with sparks struck from all-too observing blue eyes that could reflect the sky and the fresh stream water. Ending in chuckles or muted sighs, the blue crystals would eventually pull away to glance elsewhere (to reflect the sky and water on other things and other people). It could be called an unnerving thing, but to the raven-haired one they were all too common—increasingly so.

What accompanied cerulean eyes was a star-like grin that seemed to reflect the puffy, cumulous clouds or maybe the brilliant sheen of the ivory moon. That grin somehow spoke words that did not exist in any language, and such words were expressed through subtle lip curls and the tugging of the corners. Such an infectious expression that could incite laughter and swooning from genders so unalike.

Yet, despite the calm glances and the sweet looks, all that was received from the one they were directed at was a cold glower and rage hidden behind ink-stained garnet eyes. An Uchiha did not soften to unwarranted staring, even if the annoying busybody was someone they were romantically involved with. Or, more likely, _especially_ if they were romantically involved.

He could roll out of bed—thighs still burning and sticky from friskier activities—with those eyes locked on his, admittedly attractive, posterior, and this would not be a surprise. Of course it was only natural that his spine would stiffen and he would turn around to glare, but suddenly those eyes would be innocently diverted from their earlier direction. Both knew that eyes were not innocent in the slightest, but both would choose to ignore it at moments like this.

There were no protests made in any case, as an Uchiha did _not_ lose their temper, since that would be undignified and uncouth, which Sasuke was neither of. So he would content himself to simply punch a _slight_ bit harder during training or scratch just a _bit_ deeper during fornication or allow just a _tad_ more venom to leak into his usually condescending words.

However sky eyes never relented and almost seemed _proud_ of their accomplishments—not smug in any case, but it was merely a level down. The Uzumaki would go days without wearing a shirt, effectively showing off the new scars decorating his tanned back and broad shoulders. This, of course, could only serve to infuriate the Uchiha to near-snapping reaches, but there was that last shred of self-control. He wanted to laugh to himself as he thought of what his late _father_ would say in regards to his recent behaviour.

...Not that his father would approve of his relationship with the Kyūbi container in the first place, but that was another debate altogether.

It soon got to a point where it wasn't only _Sasuke_ who noticed the not-so-sly peers, which turned out to be a rather taxing thing. If Sakura's coy winks and nods towards the flaxen-haired shinobi weren't enough, there were Kiba's wolf-whistles, Hinata's ever-blooming blushes, Kakashi's lecherous giggles, Ino's conspicuous whisperings, and Lee's overjoyed _whoops_. Though, all of that was practically manageable, since Sasuke didn't very much care what they said about him or _to_ him.

Although, when Sai had the nerve to walk over one day and ask, "Is Naruto staring at you all the time because he's surprised someone has a smaller penis than him?" Sasuke finally cracked.

Not even bothering to calm himself down with rational Uchiha thoughts, the young Clan Head sprinted across the town, murderous fires blazing in his usually black-ice eyes. Townsfolk could only barely step out of the way before Sasuke shot past them (and they were none the wiser as to why), and the other Konoha shinobi—the ones who had a clue—knew better than to interfere.

Not with the insane Uzumaki-Uchiha couple.

The door to their shared apartment would burst open (because Sasuke _did not_ live in the Uchiha complex like some thought and Naruto would rather make new memories than relive old) and said blonde ninja would glance up in mild perplexity before a slow smile would spread across his smooth face. But it was _that_ same smile and _those_ same cerulean eyes that almost caused Sasuke to rupture a blood vessel.

"_You!"_ Sasuke would growl, almost foaming at the mouth and red-faced, "Do you know what that crass artist just said to me? _Do you?_"

"...Obviously not. I've been here all day, Sasu-cakes—"

"DON'T CALL ME SASU-CAKES. It's _shit_ like that..." Breaths were laboured and the rest of the words were lost on Naruto, who could only watch with a sole brow raised as the Uchiha paced furiously back and forth, sentences spewing like he was spitting up acid. What a silly little snake.

Still staring in rapture, Naruto managed to catch Sasuke's final words, "—so do you fucking understand? The next time I catch your eyes even _slightly_ grazing me, I'll rip them _right out_." The thin frame of his lover had begun to shake slightly at the end of his tirade, but despite the verbal abuse, the Uzumaki had a harder time willing away his arousal.

"_...Well?"_

Of course his proud lover would not settle for simple silence after his rant, but that was to be expected. Soft chuckles filled the atmosphere and blue eyes almost twinkled with amusement. Something was close to snapping inside him again and Sasuke's hand twitched towards his weapon-pouch. Naruto batted his hand away and pulled the Uchiha closer, enjoying his expression when he gave Sasuke a light butterfly kiss.

"Only you would get angry at something so trivial," The younger shinobi breathed, butting his head lightly against Sasuke's, "Don't be so dramatic, Sasuke. My eyes are on you because you're pretty to look at. Looking away would be harder."

And then those warm, large hands would hold Sasuke closer and show him _why_ his golden-haired lover found him appealing to his eyes, beyond the conventional sense even. Even amongst scars and bloody marks and scathing insults, blue eyes never shut and neither did slightly-watery black ones.

\.../

_**A/N: **_**Okay, I sort of liked this one, despite it being kind of cheesy. I wrote it in a bit of a rush because I didn't want the slight inspiration to leave me. Um...I should also mention that each of these—should I call them one-shots?—stories are going to vary in terms of length, style, and POV. It really just depends on the couple, theme, and idea I get. I hope you enjoyed this!**

**Please review and leave any suggestions you might have in the review box (suggestions for pairings or ideas for **_**Love Is...**_**)**

**-Atom- **


	2. Being Scared

_**A/N:**_** Hello everyone! It's been a few weeks since my last update, but I finally got to writing for this series again! This update is about fear and such, and it's for the pairing ShikaChouji—I wrote this originally as a giftfic for my wonderful friend Halley (Silver Moon Lit Forest), but I posted it here since it is part of the Love Is series. Anyways, enjoy!**

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_Love Is...Being Scared_

**Third Person POV:**

By nature, Akimichi Chouji was not a jealous person nor particularly possessive. He believed that people were not objects and were destined to fly freely as a butterfly would upon a gust of warm wind. In that sense, Chouji was a remarkably easy person to be friends with, for his personality allowed those around him to maintain a sure, calm heart.

How could one ask for more?

If one were to elaborate on this though—to _really_ delve into the young Akimichi's psyche and heart—, they might find something…just slightly (ever-so slightly) different. For, despite being a patient, understanding person, like any other, Chouji relished in attention and a near-constant companionship. Surrounding himself with loved ones was not something foreign for the gentle man.

Maybe it was derived from being ridiculed and isolated by his peers as a child or maybe it just came from his soft heart that consistently yearned for attention—in any case, in the reality of it, Chouji was someone who _needed_ friendship and love. And while he did not _envy_ per se, he longed and fell into dark places when that longing seemed unreachable.

And, so what if no one saw this? While it wasn't particularly a secret—he never purposefully kept this side of him from anyone—, maybe it was something…a piece of knowledge that he held dear to him. Because though it was not something shameful or private, perhaps…there were weaknesses that not everyone needed to know.

So, it was understandable that when…

"_Oh, did you hear about where the Nara kid has been lately?"_

"_Not looking half as apathetic these days, I'll tell you."_

"_He's been looking sharper too, haven't you noticed?"_

"_I bet for that delegate from Suna—what was her name?"_

"_Sabaku no Temari."_

"_Hmm…well, they'd be nice together."_

And it started out casually, with just a few whispered words and observations, which never truly hit the Akimichi heir. But slowly…just as slowly as a snail could crawl up a leaf from the mucky ground, his doubts began to raise and sink into the matter that was his brain. It circled around and around—it occurred to him that thoughts could be vultures.

**Ravenous vultures.**

Far too soon, he began to notice the lengths of Shikamaru's extended missions and the worry crept up through the neurons in his body—traversing through the atoms complete with protons and electrons. It sparked internal fires which opened wounds and exposed them to the frying sunlight. And so it emerged to…

"Ne, Chouji, are you free today—"

"Eh…sorry, Shikamaru, I made plans today…"

"Ah. That's fine. See you later then."

Unconcerned-Shikamaru wasn't something new, but the bitten edges of Chouji's heart were. So distance became relative, which was also something new, but Chouji's heart could not hold it in. The clogging feeling of being torn apart was distinct, yet it was hard to come to a sole conclusion. So, in a very Chouji-like move, he began to pull away, feeling the vultures trying to tear out his heart.

Why was he hurting though? Shikamaru had never outright come and said anything about Temari, nor had he dropped any subtle hints that _maybe_ something was going on. So what was this irrational pain that spiked his veins and made him retreat into his shell? Because it seemed much more…

Those ravenous things called thoughts seemed relentless and covetous, but he could not call them away for all he was worth. They pulled at his amygdala—ripping, but tugging and tugging until it was stretched to the _point_ of pain. So…perhaps aside from the curdling feeling clawing at his internal organs, it was really…

_Fear_.

Ah, and that was the only rational excuse.

But he did not advance outwardly at this realization, even days later. In fact—if anything—, said fear evolved into grander things, toying with him like a cat with a mouse. Shikamaru eventually stopped seeking him out and Chouji felt something prick sharper against his amygdala.

"Come with me; we're gonna go get ramen, Chouji!"

That voice broke through his reverie one day and invited him to re-join the living. Naruto's grinning face was a foot from his, and his usually expression, cerulean eyes were skewed shut from the force of his smile. Unable to come up with an appropriate excuse to decline (not that _Uzumaki Naruto_, of all people, would let him), the Akimichi resigned himself to the pseudo-invitation—it was more like an order.

Of all people though, Naruto was probably the best person to talk to about his problems. Because…_of all people_…the young Uzumaki would understand him the best. Being isolated and jeered at by their peers wasn't something extraneous to him; however Naruto had undoubtedly had it worse as a kid. Being hated must've been far worse than merely teased—and Naruto had experienced both.

If anyone could understand the fear and pain of being alone—or…worse yet, separated from their best friend—, it was Uzumaki Naruto. And so, with shoulders already troubled by numerous burdens, the blond, still-Genin listened with an attentiveness unmatched; and as he spoke, Chouji could feel the anxiety slip off his chest, falling somewhere cooler.

But how had it?

"Don't doubt Shikamaru," The Uzumaki laughed, twirling his ramen around with the chopsticks, "He's just stupid with fixing situations, even with his brains, y'know?"

And those words somehow meant more than rumours ever could.

He did thank Naruto before leaving, because even Naruto seemed to know how much of a difference his simple words had made. But the blond had only smiled that usual, bright grin of his before bidding Chouji farewell, slurping up the rest of his ramen. It figured that he wouldn't need any praise.

Just acknowledgment. Like any of them needed.

Finding Shikamaru was never a difficult job to do; even when the Nara clan heir was feeling unusual, he had a habit of going to the same places. It wasn't a good habit for a ninja, but it was one that he regularly maintained. So searching him turned out to be relatively simple—it didn't help that Chouji also just about had a Shikamaru-tracker implanted into his brain. Honestly…it sort of took the anticipation out of it.

(Since Chouji had nerves, just like anyone else, and they were currently shot.)

But in the end, it was the same as always, with the same clouds above their heads and the same grass beneath their feet. The young star that was situated ever-so close to them hung in the sky as usual, and everything rotated just as it would for billions of years to come. Because, really, even when the world seemed to stop for one person—

_(Really, everything continues on without tact or remorse.)_

Shikamaru knew this of course, and seemed to embody the statement to its fullest. Shikamaru moved with the clouds—held their ways and kept silly notions to himself. He gazed up into the sky as regularly as one understood to breathe, because maybe he _was_ a cloud—or, as close as a human could get.

"Rumours are troublesome," were the sighed words that came when dark eyes met darker eyes. And Chouji smiled, because Shikamaru had never been one for words nor actions, and this was closer than anyone could ever get.

Maybe it was whimsical, but Chouji wished to become a cloud as well—for, forgetting the reasonable answers and fixating on the niggling ones was just too common and too heart-breaking.

He stared at the thinner shinobi in slight scrutiny, and realized—with a jolt to his heart—that the fear was still there, just for _other_ reasons.

'_I guess we'll just never be clouds, huh, Shikamaru?'_

\.../

_**A/N: **_**Well, that's it for the one-shot. I know it was sort of drabble-y, just like the last one, but that's kind of what I want for this series. Just heart-warming stories of what love is (although, I might move on to darker ones in the future, who knows?). I hope you liked your one-shot, Halley! It's the least I can do for you, after your amazing ItaNaru smut you wrote me *drools*. Honestly, I should be writing you much, much more, huh?**

**-Atom-**


	3. Forgiveness

_**A/N:**_**Bonjour encore! I've been updating this one more frequently, huh? I guess these short fics are the easiest to come up with ideas for, and the greatest to write for. They're super fun! Anyways, this giftfic is for Sav, who asked for a SasuNaru to be written for her. And that's this chapter's couple—SasuNaru! Onwards...**

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_Love Is...Forgiveness_

**Naruto's POV:**

There were things that teachers could never teach you, no matter how much time and dedication they put in.

A teacher could not teach you to get over your first human kill, as you stared at the blood pooling around the slumped over body from a wound—a _fatal_ wound—you'd inflicted (with your eyes going fuzzy and the blood rushing violently through your veins). A teacher could not teach you to cope with the death of a teammate or a loved one; when all the world seemed bleak and you could not, for the life of you, understand why _you_ were still alive.

Life was far more cunning and brutal than most people gave it credit for, because it _knew_ there were things that would rip apart your soul and _no one _could make better. It was a cold, spiteful world that ruined psyches and demolished love.

_(Swish, swish, click-clack, there is no witch and you're not dead.)_

And a teacher could never tell you just what to say as you watched your rogue ex-teammate being dragged back to your village six years after his abandonment. Even if you'd been part of the team that'd finally managed to land a victory and transport him back to the very village he'd intended on destroying, you could not—

—My throat is caught and my heart has stopped—

In between frigid glares and heart-wrenching sneers, there was something like a fierce disappointment that seemed to well in Sasuke's eyes. For the years of me though, I did not know why—and trying to figure out Uchiha Sasuke was a task I'd not yet once succeeded in. How futile it was to think that someone so enigmatic could be...

My heart whispered though, and beat continuously under my chest. For more than half a decade I'd anticipated this moment, and yet...it wasn't enough. The edges of my consciousness were appealing, but temptations weren't even privy to the darker parts of my guilt and hollowness. Because my light was darkness to him, but all things aside...

_(Your traitorous heart whispers to you, does it not?)_

And what was I supposed to say, staring into the eyes of the one I held so dear to me? The turbulence of the world seemed insignificant and I seemed expendable—those eyes would throw me into freezing water to drown without so much as a second thought.

And maybe it wasn't the worst thing in retrospect, but...

—My heart is whispering,_ "He doesn't care; he never cared."_—

_(These truths lie between the unaccepted reality and the distorted one.)_

The moment passed in silence, and all my weary eyes could do was observe this strange creature I'd devoted my _life_ for. Years and years of...there would surely never be anything more precious to me than this man—not my village, not my team, not my long-dead parents, not my own life...

How could you take something into your soul—packing it so deeply within the pain and love and happiness and melancholy—and not have it become a part of you? How could you want something with every fibre in your body and not have it become your _everything?_

_(Hush your tenacious lullaby—everyone must sit here alone to die.)_

So how could I not say anything? How could my overused vocal chords suddenly not make a sound? This sort of a thing was so overdone and cliché, but my fragile state of being could not handle it any other way. I struck out at logic and reason, but...I never really did possess either from the start.

And the whisperings of my heart grew louder.

_(Why, why do you cry for this one? Of the hundreds? Of the thousands?)_

_(If your own life was forfeit, your eyes would be dry, but for this one who...who...)_

—He once placed his hand so close to my heart and...—

_HE TRIED TO CRUSH YOUR HEART. HE WANTED TO BREAK YOUR HEART._

So maybe it was fine that I could not speak, for the whisperings of my heart threatened to leap from my throat and into the air. Instead of simple words betraying the hollowness that resided in my core and the whispers that echoed from my heart, I became a glacier, watching with my all-too young eyes at the person who meant _everything_ to me...

_(And you mean nothing to.)_

I couldn't guarantee that I would survive this with my heart in its proper place, because even now, the whisperings were morphing into whimperings. Anyone could see, but somehow...could they really? I placed on stages and owned a collection of masks, and with that in mind, whose tactical mind could pick apart my delicate stitches?

But it must've been obvious—my devotion to this man. Even someone as emotionally-stunted as Sai—as dear as he was to me—could see maybe...maybe...no more than a glimmer of the hollowness inside of me. But it was all so hopeless, so utterly hopeless, to think of something better. Something that wasn't covered in rot or usual darkness, because life was sick and—

—I am sick; sicker than I was at twelve or six—

_(And do you know why?)_

And I already knew that nothing would ever be fair—that this sadistic thing called life would constantly nip at my tender ankles and attempt to bring me down. In my heart of hearts there would be burn marks and sickly patches, but what could be done? Because all could be said and done, but my heart would still whisper—

_("It's because you love him—love him, love him—")_

Too late into the future I would feel the scars of these isolated incidents, but for now, remaining in a sort of numbing quiet was more than comforting. One day the real pain of it all would hit me—far beyond any usual ache—, but that was neither here nor there.

—I loved him; I loved him so much—

That was a _lie_ though.

_(You stupid fool, your heart can only be so battered.)_

—I still love him; I'll always love him—

It should be said that he didn't say anything either—_was his heart whispering as well?_—, but perhaps I did not want to hear his heart's true thoughts. They would no doubt be angry, violent whispers from his raging heart, and no doubt such words would sting my eyes and rub the salt into my wounds. How sad was it that I could be so easily affected by a person?

The night would continue to be something not-so fearful, because my fears lay somewhere that probably applied to areas outside the norm. And everyone blamed me. Nothing was easy and everything felt like it was made out of glass shards. The world was in turmoil, and my heart...well, my heart...

—My heart is in shambles, and who could disagree?—

_(The creaking door never budges because you refuse to leave.)_

It was ridiculous and these feelings for someone who craved to paint the sky with my blood were foolhardy, but my insane heart never did see reason. And what about the keepers and the maybes who waited in the wings?

And in my heart of hearts, I knew—

_(You love him, you love him, you love him...)_

So maybe it should be said that, despite the fury that dwelled in his soul and the poisonous whispers that echoed from his heart, my heart-whispers would continue to sing the same tune. Even when the others would pity and try to turn my eyes the other way.

_(You love him, and as long as he exists, everything else is forgivable.)_

Perhaps my whispering heart would say more than my caught-words ever could.

\.../

_**A/N: **_**Well, uh, here's Sav's one-shot! Nothing really happens in these, huh? I should start writing some smut soon—as soon as I get around to those areas, I definitely will. I'm trying to keep it tame for now XD Just to test out how well I can write romance.**

**-Atom-**


	4. Noticing

_**A/N:**_**I haven't updated this in a while, yes, but it's because I've been busy with various other things. Including tumblr and the like. Yeah. Anyway, this is a KakaIru, because I've never written that pairing before and I wanted to! So, here you go…**

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_Love Is...Noticing_

**Third Person POV:**

For as strange as the career of a shinobi could be, Umino Iruka had never noticed anything significantly odd about his life. Perhaps the last real thing to have blown him of his tracks had been the Kyuubi attack; but other than that, daily routines and missions had become somewhat monotonous for him.

In the earlier days of his Chūnin career, it'd been all about retrieval missions and the odd low-class assassination. It'd been his whole life for many years, but just like everything else, it'd begun to grow dull.

_(Everything is so dull.)_

So he'd changed it into something else—changed it in hopes that the hopeless feeling would dissipate. The Hokage hadn't had an issue with taking him off the mission roster, as there were certainly more jobs available in the village. His parting words at Iruka's dismissal had lifted the Chūnin's spirits far above what he'd once thought possible.

"_Ah…Iruka, I think the Academy has been looking for a new teacher lately…"_

And indeed it had, as it was a rarity for shinobi to lose interest in their missions—careers that usually ended in their deaths, not retirements. Frequent sighs became…significantly less so with the newest development in his life, but somehow they still lingered.

They lingered in the air, in the water, and even in the leaves that were the namesake of his beloved village.

The dreariness might've diminished, but…for some reason it still remained. Even in semi-chaotic times _(a massacre, a kidnapping, lives that fall apart),_ he felt more listless than the ghosts that haunted the Uchiha compound or the graveyards that carried more stories than the whispers of the wind.

But in spite of the Earth spinning and changing in precarious and lovely ways, he felt the same inside. There was a cavity within his chest; a cavity filled with hot air that _needed_ something, but he could not for the life of him figure out what. It was bleaker than he once remembered, but how could he change it once more?

The sky was painted in shades of grey, however it was never enough. Maybe changing his life in slight ways had helped, but the sun still seemed dim in the sky and sounds were barely muted wisps that reached his ears. And the sighs lingered in small doses.

It all felt like the same, tiresome thing time after time. He met new faces that resembled older ones, and new faces that made no sense to him at all, and faces that made his guts burn.

Never changing.

_(I thought we were creatures meant to change.)_

But, reluctantly, sometimes he did. Prejudices were gained and dropped, thanks to the smaller one with sunshine hair and eyes like the Nakano River. His spirits fluttered within him, but it was a small change at best. The brilliance of the younger one had caught him by surprise, but it was not long before the dullness swelled inside him again.

There were children whose eyes were stars and children who listened with closed ears. There were days of cloudless skies and days of a raging sun.

Nevertheless…

_(Nothing has changed except for the seasons.)_

Even his own name had become a repetitive, lifeless word; attached to the lips of his younger students who watched him as if he were a deity or some sort of foreign beast. Was it reverence? Perhaps…or the closest thing to it.

How sick of this was he?

Very, it seemed.

Nothing seemed worthwhile in the slightest—besides perhaps the slight wisp of a boy who'd worked his way under Iruka's skin with tales of foxes and bowls of succulent ramen. But noticing things grew bothersome after so many years.

—contemplating everlasting nights seemed addictive—

_(Among us of colourless days, it is…)_

It swan and swan—through where? Through fish bowls that gave distorted views of the world (which turned out to be not so distorted in the end). Slowly, _it_ was creeping again, whatever it was. And softly, Iruka noticed the sun lose its brilliance and the laughs lose their sound.

The cavity in his chest was filling up with sand. There were things filling him that shouldn't have been filling him.

_(I didn't know everything was so fragile at best.)_

"You shouldn't give off false cheer. It sets a bad example for the kiddies."

And the first thing Iruka noticed was the grunted voice that was neither appealing nor unappealing. It simply clung onto skin and burrowed under it, resting there. But what it lacked in euphony it made up in character, and each word was drenched in an emotion that never tinged anyone else's words. Somehow the voice made up for its inadequacies in spades.

How did that work out?

It fell from lips that weren't there either, hidden behind thick fabric that should've muffled the voice but didn't. These were more things noticed with particularities that sparked unnecessary delights.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Iruka would reply, denying anything that mixed-up voice dared to claim. He wanted it to back off—to remove itself from situations that were too complicated to intervene.

—but was it really so complicated?—

And once upon a time, those mere words would've been enough to dissuade concern and dissolve worries; but, it seemed that people had grown bolder in the undulating years and nothing was the same.

"Actually, I think you do," The stranger would chuckle, moving with an unmistakable grace that spoke of soldier-years and good breeding. "And I also think you're lying. Do teachers really set such bad examples these days?"

With grit teeth, perhaps Iruka would respond with, "I don't know. Aren't you rather notorious for setting them?" Which was a sentence that spoke only rumoured truths, but truths nonetheless.

**[A grin would appear]**

Not that the brunette teacher could see, with the mask and all, but he had a habit for noticing such things (even when he didn't want to), so it was rather unlikely that he'd be wrong. And maybe it was strange for him to ponder upon the usefulness of the tight fabric, but that never occurred to him in any significant way.

It wasn't life-changing nor dramatic in any way, but the sun started to shine even on drearier days—those little things that seemed unnoticeable and infinitesimal but lived among doubts and the like.

Cauldrons could've been mixed with the anxieties of living, but…

He could've sworn that there were flecks of blue within the masked one\s slate eyes, and it was hard to miss the small scars that swiped across his cheeks, even as pale as they were. They were things that were remarkably present, even to his unstable eyes.

_(Could all this be…? But no…)_

Simple math was used to determine that these were simple noticings that meant nothing (or everything). But however it turned out in the end—whether _both_ masks were pulled back and it wasn't the worst thing that could've happened—, it seemed like the noticings never stopped. There was constantly something new that lurked under flesh.

So it was clear that the outside was beginning to match the inside.

And there was something that hid among too-bright skies and cumbersome burdens.

The spidery thoughts crawled out his ears, and a new weight seemed to settle on his shoulders holus bolus. Because, they were both beings that survives in colourless days, but the hubbub had yet to calm down.

_(After all, we are creatures who will change.)_

\.../

_**A/N:**_** So, what'd you think? Um. I dunno what I think. I kind of have to write the next chapter of Paragon since it's been so long. And my original story. Wow. I don't know what I'm doing. Okay, I love you guys and bye.**

**-Atom-**


	5. Smiling

_**A/N: **_**Updating is sometimes a challenge, no lie. But I finally got something concrete down for my favourite couple, NaruHina. I really do adore that pairing.**

/...\

_Love Is...Smiling_

**Third Person POV:**

Cold winds had been the reality for many years.

Young years—the ones better spent absorbing useless facts and coming to conclusions that couldn't be more incorrect—were spent between familiar walls. Walls of the same colour, the same length, the same texture; walls that never moved and never could be moved. They could close around her…they could trap her between them…but they never closed and never opened.

The cold winds had wafted on through, seeking destinations far beyond the stable walls, but had stopped to rest. They seeped into her pores, searching for warmth to let them sleep effortlessly. Did they find that warmth within her?

Perhaps, but perhaps it also forced them to never leave.

They stayed trapped within her bone marrow, lounging in the soft comfort of her epidermis, and languidly swimming with her red blood cells. And between the thick walls, despite the heat they kept within and allowed her to soak in, she shivered.

_(Cold.)_

_(Cold.)_

She shivered and shivered, even covered in down-feather blankets and force-fed steaming plates of spicy curry. Despite winter's disappearance and summer's arrival, not the slightest gust escaped her.

Did her family notice?

Did they care?

Those questions were plaguing at best, resisting any attempt at being washed away. The questions formed amities with the frigid winds—they stopped to chat and have tea, and the girl felt the things that made her _her_ swiftly being stripped away. If anyone saw her struggles, they kept closed lips and closed eyes to it.

She was a small girl made of cold winds and lingering doubts, and despite being decorated with high class names and spoken to by patronizing voices, she found herself…

—there was no one—

Between the one that despised her and the one that was embarrassed by her, the walls began to shake ever-so slightly. Perhaps the quivering walls meant nothing at all, but the girl took it as the harbinger of the end. The cold winds shifted within her restlessly at those terrifying thoughts.

"_How old are you?"_

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere.

"…_It-It doesn't m-m-matter."_

Speeches were given and choices were set out on rocky tables, but the idea had been infused into her cranium, imbued with things that did not matter. Lavender, pupil-less eyes lost their sight and became as blind as they appeared. The languor caused her passions to flee—caused them to set sail for brighter lands.

They ran and ran and ran—_(and where was I?)_

The spirals came out of nowhere to trap her in whirlpools too far from dry land. Trapped in the offing? She screamed out for help—truly and madly, she did, but the cold winds wrapped around her and choked the air out of her. And if they laughed, they did not show it.

The maelstrom winked twice from where she was confined, and it promised to be the panacea she so desperately needed. The idea of it being a lie never occurred to her—not amongst the tightly enclosed walls that still followed her, and the judgemental eyes that hated her in such violent ways.

—did you jump?—

—did you jump?—

_(Yes…I did.)_

_(And _**something**_ caught my hand.)_

The quintessential moments suffered, but there was no pyrrhic victory for there was no victory at all.

Something kept her from falling into the maelstrom, even as her feet brushed the chaotic waters. A gripping hand that'd come from nowhere, and within her, the cold winds suddenly stilled.

"Hey, be more careful!"

Rough voice—it was a rough voice. Not musical by any means, but it slipped past her eardrums and the winds caught their breaths. Her blind eyes that could not see sought it out and she desperately robbed them to clean out the gunk.

Beyond the summery glow of the setting sun in the late fall, the visibility of what was _there_ was all too clear. And she absorbed not the ocean eyes or the melted bullion hair or the trace marks that went horizontally (instead of vertically) on plump cheeks, but the smile that graced the lips she'd never seen before.

—so could you jump?—

He let go of her and she still could not. The smile fled off to brighter lands, perhaps in search of more maelstrom-jumpers to save, but she could only chase it over dangerous waters. Could only chase it from the first corner of the globe to the next, never stopping to feed her tired body or grow used to the weather.

The cold winds squealed within her, vacating in trace amounts the closer she got to the rough voice and lilting smile. The shivers calmed their restless hearts.

"_So how old are you?"_

The voice still asked the same tired, old questions, but she still could not see the relevance for it. It simply repeated and repeated in a murmured voice—_so low it spoke._

"_I…I a-am…"_

She sought out the brilliant smile to tell its owner the answer to her repeating question, but forceful hands dragged her back, intent on the drowning. There were struggles within the vice grips, but they did not give her reasons even when she cried out for them.

Struggling was a second nature to the girl who _needed_ ocean eyes; even in the relative silence her soul seemed to live in, rebellion was not something unheard of. Between the one that still utterly _loathed_ her (for events that couldn't have been her fault) and the one who'd long grown apathetic (which might've burned her insides but she refused to listen), there was no one to speak to and no one to care for.

Such unrequited affection boiled up inside her—to tens of thousands of degrees, allowing for usual clammy hands. Where could they go? As the cold winds had before them, the affectionate feelings hung off her floating ribs and tugged on her uvula.

_Where do we go?_

"_And how old are you?"_

"_How old are you?"_

"_HOW OLD ARE YOU?"_

The boiling point had long been past and suddenly it erupted in; "I'M SEVEN!"

Everything snapped back to the reality she'd never known but always needed. Absent of cold winds and far away from raging whirlpools, she opened her eyes that were no longer covered in debris. At first, it was white—so white that it burned her retinas beyond what she thought was possible.

_(Is it the sun?)_

"Oh…I'm seven too, 'ttebayo!"

Fresh colour rushed to her cheeks as the white cleared and she could make out the figure in front of her. Had she known that her relatives would let go so easily, perhaps her reaction might've changed but—

His smile was still plastered on his tan face in such a way that she could not help but smile back. The warmth, the amicability, the kindness…

And she felt the affection spill over and wet the ground beneath her.

\.../

_**A/N:**_** The last line made me think of childbirth, not gonna lie. That's frightening. Okay, well that's it for now.**

**-Atom-**


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